You adjourn to the bedroom.

When Amber’s eyes are able to focus again, she looks at you with adoration and wonder. “My life is so different than it was yesterday. It’s not just that I’m getting the best sex of my life—but ohh, the sex!” You smile as an incongruity strikes you. Normally, Amber is averse to swearing. She thinks it’s ugly, and so you’d rarely if ever heard her use that kind of language—but when you’re having sex, suddenly it seems like every other word is some variant of “fuck”! Not for the first time, you reflect that people are walking bundles of contradictions.

“Is it just because I love you so much, or are you really that good?” Amber asks.

“Some of both,” you answer. “Honestly, probably more of the former than the latter. I’ve never thought of myself as a contender for the Sexual Olympics.”

Amber giggles at the image.

“I’m sure there are things I’m doing that aren’t the way you would normally prefer,” you continue. “But right now, just the fact that I’m finally yours has you so turned on, I can do no wrong. That will fade; but I’ll learn your body better and learn better how to please you, and that will make up for it. No one’s great at sex by themselves, after all—it’s a cooperative effort.”

You lower Amber’s legs and help her sit up, then give her a long, languid, satisfying kiss. When you come up for air, you walk over and grab the coffee for her. You give it to her and say, “It’s a little colder than it was supposed to be.”

Amber laughs and says, “I’ll take the trade.” She takes a long swallow, then jumps down from the table. “It’s still warm enough. Why don’t we move where we can cuddle properly?”

You both decide to leave your clothes where they are, but Amber takes the dishtowel and tosses it in the laundry as the two of you head upstairs to her bedroom. You sit up against the headboard; she leans against you and you hold her as she finishes her drink. You tell her about your inadvertent eavesdropping at the coffee shop, and she looks at you in disbelief.

“Him?!” she snorts. “Never in a million years. What on earth would make him think he’d have a chance with me? Just because he’s fucking my mother—she’ll bone anything with a Y chromosome if you catch her in the right mood.”

“That’s not fair,” you say. “She’s not that promiscuous, at least since I’ve known her—even if she was two-timing me—and she’s a heck of a lot pickier than that.”

“Okay,” Amber concedes, with an unwilling grin. “Still, if you’re a good sexual specimen in good financial health, she’ll give you a chance, and if you know how to fuck, she’ll keep you.”

“You do wonders for my ego,” you murmur.

Amber gives you a tilted grin and says, “I’ll be happy to do wonders for your ego later, sexy man.” She kisses you hard, takes the last swallow of her coffee, sets the empty cup on her nightstand, and slides down in bed. She draws you down with her and snuggles up against you, spooned. “The point is,” she continues, “even if you grant that my mother has standards, I have different ones. He’s good-looking, I guess, though not my type; but he’s not my type of man. Ugh. Have you heard him—well, of course you have, you just told me.”

“I’ve heard him more than once before. I’ve done a little business with him, and I’ve encountered him casually over the years. I’ve never liked him.”

“I always knew you were a man of good taste and good judgment.” She wiggles her ass against you and says, “Especially in women.”

You kiss her on the neck and reply, “Well, I don’t think my judgment in women was all that good there for a while, but it’s definitely improving.”

She turns her head to kiss you back and responds, “You always know the right thing to say. And even at that, I’ll still grant your good taste in women.” She rubs her ass against you and coos in pleasure to feel how long and hard you’ve gotten. “Up for another round?” she asks in a sultry voice.